


black and blue

by leprixx



Series: (b)east [1]
Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Genre: Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Hallucinations, M/M, Self-Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leprixx/pseuds/leprixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yoochun feels it growing, dragging, pulling - suddenly his feet are covered in blood and ink runs, black, seeping into his sheets of music, his skin, veins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. there's a lot of things I hoped you could help me understand

Yunho stares ahead as management speaks, head nodding every time it’s required of him to do so, mouth releasing no sound, face betraying no emotion. Yoochun slumps a bit more in his plastic, uncomfortable chair, and tries to ignore the way Yunho’s eyes are fixed on the wall and not on manager-hyung’s face.

\--

"Jae," He says, eyes burning, skin raw, hands shaking. Jaejoong looks at him, pursues his lips. Changmin looks at him too, eyes glassy. Junsu is nowhere to be seen, Yunho is... somewhere. "Don't."

Jaejoong opens his mouth. Yoochun can almost taste him saying sorry, can hear the echos of it on the back of his skull. Jaejoong says nothing.

\--

Yoochun feels it growing, dragging, pulling - suddenly his feet are covered in blood and ink runs, black, seeping into his sheets of music, his skin, veins.

He blinks, nothing. His toes wiggle, unblemished. The lack of sleep, maybe? He considers the empty styrofoams of old coffee piling on the corners of his desk, on his side of the room.

(He’s left with a working room that suddenly becomes too much, too full of his own mess and of none the smell of home)

\--

" _hello_ " he hears, curling around his ears, " _hell-o_ "

"hello" he says back into the darkness of one, two, three am.

\--

"So we're supposed to sing this?" Yoochun raises an eyebrow, flips the music sheet over, drags the back of his pencil across notes. He's pumped up enough on caffeine, nicotine and sleep-deprivation that he feels almost numb, or almost like himself. It sounds insane, but those two had become one in the past four months of silences and Yunho breaking things all over their dorm.

Since then, they moved twice. Yunho still breaks things, Yoochun still leaves food to rot on the kitchen counter. Nothing changed ever since everything changed.

"Yes." Manager-hyung looks exhausted, halfway to the grave. "They'll like it." Not love it. Loving was for when the fans had five rising gods, not two crumbling ones.

"Okay." Yoochun fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, nudges Yunho until he looks up from staring at the copy of the music sheet and nods. "Yeah, okay."

\--

"are you-" a twist to the smile and yoochun knows _he_ 's not. "you look like him."

" _i look like a lot of things. a lot of people. a lot of hurts, fears._ "

yeah, okay. o-k-ay.

\--

"You were good" Some dongsaeng says, smile white, perfect and absolutely brimming with lies. Another one agrees. They are always smiling. Yoochun vaguely remembers being like that.

"Thank you" Yoochun says. Yunho's voice had cracked, his own hadn't reached the last high note.

"Useless" Yunho says when they're finally inside their dressing room, low enough only for Yoochun to hear. As if anyone else was there, to hear, to care.

Who are you even talking about, Yunho? You, me? Would you be bitter enough, truthful enough, crude enough to tell me so? "Hyung," He says, instead. Yunho doesn't look up so Yoochun goes to him, pushes him into sitting on the couch, sits as close to him as possible without crawling into his lap. "Hyung." And Yunho exhales, shuddering, shoulders straight and mouth open.

"Yoochun-ah."

"Hyung. It's okay."

Yunho looks up, face blank. "No, Yoochun-ah. It's not."

Yoochun tilts his head to the side, considers Yunho in silence. Why not? "It's not."

And Yunho inhales.

\--

" _i have a surprise for you._ "

"you do? a surprise." a smile, hands hovering just above his own. it's four am, wednesday, and yoochun's muscles still ache from tuesday, recoil in remembrance of thursday. "tell me."

" _show you_."

"show me." and as soon as yoochun's lips close over the last word, a cold hand touches his, backwards. he looks up, eyes impossibly wide. how had he not realized that he was expecting the other to be unreal? was he really that far gone? "how-"

" _are you going to ruin this? think_."

"how-"

" _think_."

"you, you-"

" _don't think_ "

\--

"I'm leaving." The dance instructor says and does just so, rolling his eyes when Yoochun and Yunho chorus a goodbye.

"You won't be able to get it right if you don't stop messing yourself up." Yunho says after a while, chest heaving with exhaustion, chugging a bottle of water.

"Messing myself up?"

"Never sleep, never eat." Yunho looks at Yoochun's collarbones in pretence of meeting his eyes.

"Oh fuck you" Yoochun gets up from where he was slumped on the floor. His arms shake as he shoves them inside the arms of his jacket. "Fuck you." Fuck you for having the guts for telling me off when you're doing just as bad. Worse, even. He slams the door, gets out of the floor by the stairs, rummages his bag and winds a scarf around his throat as he gets on the street, cold barely making him shiver.

halfway home he realizes that he's not alone, that bare shoulders are almost brushing his and they walk. that eyes are searching his face, mapping it.

"aren't you cold?"

" _am i not cold?_ "

yoochun shrugs. does it matter? does anything?

there's a flash on the blank expression, and yoochun then realizes that he had never seen those eyes focus on anything but him.

" _i have a request for you_."

\--

he takes the knife with shaking fingers, closes his eyes, feels _him_ clawing on the back of his throat.

traces the line up his wrist and feels the sting as a shallow scratch forms. he closes his eyes again. goes back, presses the knife deep and pulls, pain blinding even behind his eyelids, blinding him but not the voice leading, not the hands that intertwine with his and press, deep deep deep and up, up, up.

(YOOCHUN  
YOOCHUN  
Y O O C H U N  
Y O O C H U N)  



	2. and at the end of the day, you're just a bag of bones

"-and you can go back home in a few hours." the doctor smiles, though there's something strained about it. about the way she had told him that some things were altered in his vitals but nothing humanly possible, maybe just defects on the machines that ran his exams. nothing to worry about, really.

"at least it didn't damage your tendons." yunho sighs, when they're left alone, bends his head lower, further curves his back as his upper body sinks into yoochun's bed.

 _he_ laughs against the bandages on yoochun's arm.

\--

"-the night is dark and full of terrors" the woman on the television says, and there's a laugh from behind him, running along his skin, tickling his ear.

" _looks interesting. it's based on a book, right?"_

yoochun hums, looks up, finds yunho's profile lighted by the television's screen.

"based on a book, right?" he asks. when was the last time he had even called yunho something? called him yunho? he vaguely remembers calling him hyung, and then not calling him at all. (yoochun thinks there's something missing, that he's letting something terribly important pass, but he can't figure out what).

"yeah." and yunho doesn't look up, just chews on more popcorn and swallows.

\--

"- not what the company wanted." manager-hyung sighs. he looks so hauntingly old, wrinkles accumulating at the corner of his eyes, his mouth.

"and?" yunho asks, mouth full. yoochun disinterestedly notes that those were the chips that manager-hyung had bought for him, because 'yoochun-ah, please, please eat more. you have to eat to survive, yoochun-ah, just, please'. but it's not like he cares that he's starving, not like he cares that there's a black hole ( _another_ , _he_ adds, smiling, hands fondling his his stick-like thighs, fingers digging into his bird-like bones, nails pressing on skin pulled too tight over his fears and emotions and despair) growling inside his stomach, cares that he was left behind by everyone that had ever promised love and not just work or stability or - "right, yoochun?"

he startles, looking up into yunho's frown and manager-hyung's defeated face.

"what?"

"we'll try harder next time. it's not like we'd be able to reach the top the way we are now, anyway." yunho shrugs, and yoochun narrows his eyes at the older man, anger and hate and something darker growing. who is even yunho to say that? wasn't he one to blame, too, for not being a better leader, for not noticing when things started falling apart, for just standing there and letting them leave? how could yunho even dare to blame yoochun when he was just as guilty, if not more? and at that thought yunho seems to change before yoochun's eyes, his face too small to his body, eyes too slanted, smile too white, jaw too unsymmetrical, fat gathering on his arms and stomach, mouth too curled into something ugly and- "YOOCHUN!"

"WHAT?" he snarls, standing up in fury, fists curled, something hot spinning inside him and unleashing, prodding, changing him. or had he changed already? or had yunho? hadn't everything changed, or stopped changing, or stayed the same, or or or or  
"what the fuck is wrong with you, huh? is wallowing in your own fucking misery at home not enough anymore? now you have to do it in front of manager-hyung too? have you got no consideration-"

"you are not saying this."

"oh yes i am you useless-"  
u s e l e s s  
howdarehecallmeuseless howdarehe how dare he  
h o w  
"-piece of shit-"

"YOU'RE THE FUCKING USELESS ONE, YOU WHO COULDN'T STOP THEM FROM LEAVING-"

yunho shuts up at that. when had been the last time yoochun had screamed? he can't remember. he blinks and tries and all that comes to mind is changmin's laugh, jaejoong's eyes, jun-

he leaves as yunho starts screaming, he leaves as manager-hyung finally starts crying the tears that had not come earlier, he leaves as his own mind draws back from red-hot anger and right into sweet-tasting darkness of impossibly black eyes and a unbelievably dangerous smile tasting of _him_.

" _let's go_ " he says, as yoochun grips the steering wheel and tries to breathe

\--

they open another cut, this time on his right arm. yoochun hands _him_ the knife and sits on the toilet seat, dizzy.

" _we have to do it right, this time_." _he_ approaches yoochun and presses the knife at the base of the cut, holding it there. yoochun hadn't realized that the knife was so cold. (yoochun hadn't realized a lot of things)

 _his_ fingers tap right on the borders of the wound and yoochun only has time for a last deep breath - smelling sweet, tasting acid - before _he_ dips a finger inside the wound and pain, so much pain, excruciating, so, so, sososososo-

it numbs. it hurts and it burns and it eats him up but it numbs when a smile is directed his way. yoochun hadn't known that he was screaming until the knife was pressed flat against his lips, freezing them, cold running down his mouth to his throat and lungs.

fingers wriggle inside his wound and when had it gotten so big, so large? yoochun can only remember it being a line, not a gaping stretch of hole, deep, and is that his bone oh my fucking god  
and those fingers, moving,  
and those nails, pressing,  
and then something _shifts_ inside of him and his own fingers move without his consent  
and _he_ laughs, loud, _eu kyang kyang_ ,  
and _he_ laughs and leans down, mouth centimeters from yoochun's skin  
and cold, coldest exhale of breath against his skin, against his blood, his exposed b o n e  
and teeth closing over something that should never ever ever be touched  
and  
and

yoochun bleeds black.  
\--


End file.
